


Have You Ever Seen the Rain?

by Cloudiana



Series: Full Moon Fever [5]
Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Adora (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - Catra is She-Ra, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Catra (She-Ra) Needs a Hug, F/F, Horde Adora (She-Ra), Life in the Horde (She-Ra), Magicat Catra (She-Ra), Magicats (She-Ra), Past Abuse, Past Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Princess Catra (She-Ra), Shadow Weaver | Light Spinner's A+ Parenting, Werewolf Adora, Werewolf Culture, magicatra
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-05
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 14:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29208750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloudiana/pseuds/Cloudiana
Summary: The legend of the Lone Wolf grows. All throughout the Whispering Woods, Rebels and Horde soldiers alike wonder where she will strike next.While the Lone Wolf, ex-Force Captain Adora has plans for a certain Horde caravan plowing through the rain, her real mission involves tracking down someone from an unpleasant part of her past, now living a quiet life in a forgotten corner of the woods. Their meeting triggers memories of her old life in the Horde, but she's not here for revenge. She wants the truth.When Adora gets answers she doesn't expect, she realizes that the Lone Wolf might not be alone much longer.TLDR: Catra is She-Ra and Horde!Adora is a Werewolf Vigilante.Featuring: The Origin of Magicat She-Ra
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra)
Series: Full Moon Fever [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2045827
Comments: 70
Kudos: 132





	1. One Time in the Whispering Woods

The first melts of spring had turned the road to mud. Light rain misted the windshield. Fog seeped up from the ground, making the woods resemble a glitchy training simulation. Tung Lashor couldn’t imagine how anyone could plow their way through the winding thoroughfare without Horde hardware. He pushed the sixteen-wheeler transport through the night’s mist with the high beams set to max, and thanked his lucky days that his family had joined the winning side back when the Wolves pushed them out of the Waste. Otherwise, he might have ended up in the back of the truck instead of driving it.

At that thought, he keyed into the whimpering coming through the wall behind him. He pounded on it loud to shut them up. “Keep it down in there you brats!” That shut them up. As it should. These brats ought to be grateful to him for getting them out of that village. It wasn’t even part of his orders, but after a routine shakedown turned up a fugitive from the labor camps, a wolf cub still wearing her collar (the morons couldn't even get it off her), he decided to teach the villagers what happened to those who harbored the Horde’s enemies.

What did they have to look forward to in a backwater Rebel town? In the Horde, they’d have ordered lives in the only civilized corner of the planet. They’d have the honor of carrying out Lord Hordak’s glorious vision for Etheria. Besides, some of their best soldiers had come up through the Accelerated Acclimation Program. Well, those that survived it did anyway. So, what did they have to be crying about?

The driver turned his eyes back to the road. A couple more hours and they’d be back in the ordered, bright-lit streets of the Fright Zone. Not a moment too soon. He hated driving through the Woods. At night, in the mist, with the sliver of the moon shining through the trees, he could almost believe some of those old rumors he’d heard as a cadet.

But mostly, he hated the Woods because they were dirty and crawling with rebels and dark and muddy and wet and — he slammed on the breaks as a giant, fallen tree trunk hit the high beams. The sudden stop caused a fresh round of whining from the brats. A few more threats brought back the peace. _Moons above_ , he thought. _These Rebels fight tooth and nail to push us back and the louts can’t even bother keep their own roads clear._

Lashor pulled up his radio. “Gyra. Road’s blocked. I need your crew to clear. Over.” Silence. He tried again. “Lashor to Gyra. Do you copy? Over.” Silence. The driver put his head through the window and looked back. Darkness. The rest of the caravan was lagging far behind. So far behind that they were out of radio range . . . That was odd.

In spite of himself, Lashor reached into his boot and pulled out a family heirloom: a tarnished silver whip spike. His mother had passed it to him the night before his first mission. “In case you run into any mutts,” she had rasped. “Ones that we aren’t forced to associate with that is.” It was unusual for someone of Lashor’s rank to have such a thing. They could cut through a werewolf’s hide like a hot knife through butter and leave a nasty burn along the way. Despite their usefulness, silver weapons were rare in the Horde. The few weapons they had were mostly what they had managed to loot from Alliance forces over the years.

The only region with an abundance of silver mines was the Kingdom of the Snows. Every decade or so some ambitious Commander would try to organize a new invasion, and every time they would return with a tenth of the troops they’d set out with and nothing but frostbite for their troubles. Well, that and a one-way ticket to Beast Island. "Never start a land war in Snows" was a big joke in Force Captain Orientation. 

He knew he was probably being paranoid. It was the night after a new moon. Any wolf with half a brain wouldn’t dare trying to ambush a Horde caravan, but a wolf with half a brain was gifted in his book. Lashor smelled a trap and he wasn’t taking any chances.

Just as he finished securing the spike to his weapon of choice, he heard a loud clank from the back of truck. _The door!_ In a single swift motion, Lashor swung himself out the window, kicked off the side of the transport, and landed five feet from the blonde with the nerve to try and steal what he had rightfully kidnapped.

With a growl, he lunged at her, stun prod hot. To his shock, she deftly stepped aside, disarmed him, and let his momentum carry him across the road. Recovering quickly, Lashor pulled his whip from his belt and turned to face his attacker. The rear lights from the truck caught her eyes in just the right way to light them up in a neon green flash. The effect only lasted for a second, but he knew wolf eyes when he saw them. “You picked the wrong transport to harass, mutt,” he roared. “For now, you must face the wrath of Tung Lashor - the Strongest in the Horde!”

“Kids,” she shouted, ripping the doors open with one hand while brandishing the stolen stun prod in the other. “Get to woods. I’ll deal with this loser.”

“It’s _LASHOR_!” He roared as he sent the whip flying. He didn’t even bother to watch the kids scramble away. If this mutt was who he thought she was, she was a much bigger prize.

As long as he could keep her at a distance, the stun prod would just be dead weight. She dodged the first dozen strikes, but whatever she had done to set up this ambush had clearly taken a lot out of her. The mud was dragging her down. Her steps were getting slower while his lashes were only coming quicker. It was only a matter of time before — snap! The end of the whip wrapped around her wrist. With a sharp pull, he twisted the prod out of her hand and got her off-balance. Inexplicably, she grit her teeth, regained her footing, and pulled back — like she expected him to go sprawling into the mud.

He just laughed, dug his feet in, and pulled back. “Strongest in the Horde” wasn’t an idle boast. The mutt tried to unwrap the whip to get leverage and relief from the silver spike, but he keep the line taut. “What’s the matter, Lone Wolf?” He taunted. “Not so tough without a full moon, are you?”

He was so engaged in the tug of war that Lashor didn’t notice the straggler hopping out of the truck, kneeling down, and hurling a ball of muck straight at his face. He stumbled back blindly, letting the whip go slack — and giving his opponent the chance to free herself. She pulled on the line once. He took the bait, heaving back. She let go, and he fell backwards in the mud. Before he even knew what happened, she was on top of him, slamming a stun prod into his neck.

* * *

  
“And then,” the orphaned wolf told the rapt room, standing on her bed. “The Lone Wolf used Tongue Loser’s badge to unlock my shock collar, and she told me, ‘Good job, Bella. Couldn’t have done it without you!’ We had this whole, kindred spirits, instant connection thing going on. Wolf stuff, you wouldn’t understand. Then, we shoved him in the truck, locked the door, and led the rest of the kids back to town.”

Her story was met with reverent gasps from the other orphans. Late at night, in the attic they shared, the refugees from every corner of the Whispering Woods who had found themselves alone in this village lived for stories of the heroes fighting the Horde — striking back at the monsters who took everything from them.

“Did you ask her where she was from?” Emer, a black Magicat teen asked, pupils so wide only the edges of his yellow eyes were visible. “Because I heard she’s a rogue Brightmoon Hunter who’s pack got killed by the Horde. And now she’s out for revenge.”

“Nuh-uh,” another kid across the room chimed in. “The Lone Wolf wasn’t a Hunter. She’s a feral wolf, raised without a pack. She grew up in one of the Horde’s prison camps and escaped. Just like Bella.”

“Did you touch her?” Jacques, a scaly, reptilian kid rasped. “Cuz I heard the Horde killed her and her pack a hundred years ago, and she’s actually a ghost come back to haunt them!”

“Yeah!” Another kid agreed. “That’s how she appeared out of nowhere to save She-Ra and the Princesses in Plumeria.”

“No,” argued another. “That’s not what happened! The Horde captured the Lone Wolf and She-Ra and the Princesses came to save her.”

“Has she met She-Ra?” A few orphans asked at once, as the others kept arguing.

“I heard she was the Beast of the Horde.” Helena, a scrawny goat-kid said excitedly.

“No way,” the girl next to them yelled. “The Beast is evil.”

“She destroyed my village!” Cried another.

“Well, actually” they explained. “She was evil. Then, She-Ra used her Lasso of Truth to show the Beast the error of her ways and she turned good. Don’t you know anything?”

“She-Ra doesn’t have a Lasso of Truth.”

“Yes, she does!”

“What did the Lone Wolf say, Bella!?” Emer’s younger sister, Kiki demanded.

The wolf spun around, cocking her head to the side to give off a thousand-hard stare. She let out her best growl and tried to bear her fangs in just the same way her hero had. “You wanna know about my past?” She said in her gruffest voice. “My past’s not important, kid. All that matters . . .” she paused, trying to capture her exact tone. She turned back to the other kids, her eyes gleaming. “Is my mission.”

The room was silent. After a few moments, the young Magicat managed a muffled, “Wow.” Then her eyes grew even wider than her brother’s. “Can you tell it again?”

A chorus of agreement went up from the other kids. “Ok,” she conceded proudly. “There we were — me and the Lone Wolf, side by side, two loose canons with scores to settle. Fifty Horde soldiers to our left. Fifty Horde soldiers to our right. Five hundred Horde soldiers in front of us. ‘Not exactly fair,’ the Lone Wolf growled. And I said, ‘Yeah. They’re gonna need more soldiers!’ Then we were all like— Grrrrr! Rawrrr! Awoooooo—“

A few taps on the door silenced the room. The oohs and aahs and laughs cut off abruptly. “I’m going to open the door now,” a weathered voice on the other side wheezed. “As long as that’s all right with you lot that is?” Some of the older kids had been there long enough to learn he was good for his word. It was his house, but he treated the orphans who lived there with more respect than many were used to, especially escapees like Bella. When no one objected, the old, weathered door creaked open, and an old, weather man peered in.

Kantor was the town mechanic. After a decade of living there, he was as much a part of the town as the paving stones. He had a knack for taking things that everyone had given up on and making them work again. That’s how he got the large manor on the edges of town, abandoned for years after a Horde raid, as his home. Some wondered if that same instinct led him to turn it into a home for orphans and refugees as well, but in truth he had something else drive him to that.

He leaned on his crutch, his right leg crippled long ago from some animal attack by the look of it. Probably the same one that left him with a glass eye. But the tall, half-reptilian man with dulled, brass scales covering his skin in rough patches didn’t like talking about what happened before he appeared washed up on the banks of the river. He extended the same courtesy to his guests, never pressing them on who they were or where they came from. Kantor knew they’d tell him their stories when they were ready.

Right now, his main concern was quieting the rowdy recital that was ringing through the rafters. “It sounds like you had quite the busy day, Bella,” he told the newest guest. “And you know what busy days call for?”

She was silent, standing rod straight on her bed, not daring to move. _Poor kid._ After stars’ know how long in a Horde camp, it takes kids like her a long time to accept that they’re safe around adults. Fortunately, one of the Magicat kits whose caravans met the wrong end of a Horde patrol spoke up. “Busy days,” he drawled with a yawn. “Call for sleepy nights.”

Kantor nodded. “That’s right, Emer.” He turned back to Bella. “I want to hear all about your big adventure in the morning. I expect half of Elberron will, kid. So, how about you rest up so that the old fogies like me will get a good encore performance?”

She nodded back, still unsure. Still not trusting. He lowered the lights on the panel next to him, keeping a hushed glow alive for the younger ones. And some of the older ones. Though they’d never admit it, even the ones old enough to have a private room in the manor liked to keep a little light on at night. Whether they escaped from a raid, a prison camp, or even a barracks, any child who ended up here had earned a right to be afraid of the dark.

“Thank you, Bella.” He said quietly. “Good night. See you all in the morning.”

“Good night, Mr. Kantor,” a small chorus of the older kids responded.

Kantor’s smile faded as he limped away from the door, through the hallways and towards the stairwell. He wasn’t looking forward to what was awaiting him in the kitchen, but he had to face it.

As he descended the stairs, he heard the voices drifting through the old, oak walls. Fortunately for his nerves, the more familiar voice was doing most of the talking.

“And if someone comes up to you and says they’re an ‘alpha’: big red flag; just walk away,” the bouncy, energetic voice called out, a bit too loud of the circumstances, but that’s just how his daughter, Samanya, got when she was excited about something. “All that macho, alpha, wolf hierarchy stuff just came from Horde scientists who didn’t know what they were observing. Packs are more like families — or friend groups at our ages — than anything else.”

“So,” the other voice muttered. “A pack is like your . . . squad?”

“Yeah! Sure!” His daughter responded. “But really if someone’s telling you any of the that alpha stuff, they’re probably some skeeze, fleabag trying to take advantage of a self-taught wolf like you. That’s another thing. Pack Wolves, especially older ones, may call you feral, but that really means ‘wild’, ‘rabid’, ‘can’t shift back to human’— that sort of thing. It’s started to mean just ‘raised outside the Packs’ since the Horde has split up so many families, but it’s kinda discriminatory. So maybe push back on that - if you're comfortable, I mean.”

Kantor reached the door to the kitchen. His hand shook as he reached for the knob. He steeled himself for the face behind the door.

“You’d learn so much more if you came to the regional bonfire next new moon. I’m taking Bella to introduce her to some other wolves. It’s lots of fun! There’s great food and folk music and storytellers and legal cases! The last thing doesn’t sound interesting, but it’s seriously good trashy drama. Last month, there was this one pack, the Posts, were hunting a fox and this saucy intruder, a self-taught wolf named Pierson came in and bagged it at the last minute—“

At that moment, Kantor screwed his courage to the sticking place, shoved open the door, and came face-to-face with the girl from his nightmares.

**— - - - 11 years ago - - - —**

“How did your village open that portal?” He spat, loosing another kick into her ribs. Between that and the sobs, she couldn’t get a breath in, much less answer him. He was desperate; Catra had warned her of that when he called her to his office. He was a failure, and even though she had only been in the Fright Zone for a month, she knew Hordak didn’t tolerate failures. It was a lesson that would stick with her for a long time.

“What portal?” she sobbed. “Please. I don’t know—“ Another kick knocked the air out of her lungs.

“Stop lying to me, runt” he growled. “I know Shadow Weaver had her little pet tell you to keep your mouth shut; that witch is gunning for my job.” Kick. “I know you’re hiding something.” Kick. “That signal’s only come from other place before.” Kick. “And your people knew how to make it.” Kick. “So you’re.” Kick. “Gonna.” Kick. “Tell me.” Kick. “How.” Kick.

Adora’s body burned. One thought crystallized. She didn’t know what this man wanted her to say. He was going to keep kicking her. And eventually, very soon — _I’m going to die. He’s going to kill me. I don’t want to die._

The burning got stronger . . . brighter. Her vision, already blurred with streaks of black at the edges, cracked with light. Whatever this feeling was . . . it didn’t want to her to die either, some part of her realized. It wasn’t her enemy. It could help her, if she let it. She willed it to grow, fanning it like a cooking fire back home. The burning exploded from her shoulder, right where that grey wolf had — **AH!**

The heat and light charged through her blood, engulf her body, and rip through her bones. Something changed. _She changed._

When Kantor’s foot came sailing towards her, she dodged and tore through the whole leg. Instinct took over. The cowering girl was gone. Adora was all snarls and claws and fangs.

Before she knew what happened, he was bloody and broken on the floor of his office. She heard a gasp from the door. Ozone hit her nose before the stun blast hit her side. It didn’t slow her down. She bolted between the guard’s legs. She had to get out. It wasn’t safe there.

Everything was wrong. It smelled wrong. It looked wrong. It sounded wrong.

The sound was especially off when a loud whine started blaring from all the walls. It pounded inside her skull. Adora had to get somewhere quiet. Then, she could get out. Get to a place where the air wasn’t thick and hard to breathe.

 _Quiet._ She knew a quiet place. _Friend showed me one._ Sprinting through the halls, dodging armored monsters with zap sticks, and scurrying through vents, the wolf finally found it — a disused closet tucked away in a forgotten corner of the Bad Place. She darted in and ducked behind a stack of dusty crates. Hands, twisted into paws, reached up to cover her now ultra-sensitive ears.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Catra wasn’t worried. Why would she be? So what if Adora hadn’t come back from Kantor’s office yet? It had only been a few hours. So what if she missed her mandatory Horde integration class? It’s not like she stayed up all night studying. So what if she missed dinner? It’s not like it was grey ration bars, her favorite, tonight. So what if she was the first person who was nice to her—

 _No!_ Catra wasn’t worried about the new kid. She wasn’t in a bad mood because she liked her or anything. She was in a bad mood because it was a day ending in y. And because her sorcerery training session with Shadow Weaver had gone much longer than usual — a reward for finally being able to ignore the burning pain surging through her bones long enough to draw an “almost passable” truth spell. She could still feel the burns from the Black Garnet on the skin beneath her claws.

And now, instead of getting to collapse into her bunk and pass out, she had to stay up, pretending to study with the squad, and wait for the blonde dork. Not because she cared; just because she had been assigned to be the new kid’s “buddy” and would get in trouble if she missed curfew. Knowing Adora’s luck, Kantor had probably called her in for a promotion. Could junior cadets even get promoted?

Unfortunately, a blaring alarm interrupted her not-worrying. It was the pattern for Intruder Alert. “Code Silver! Code Silver! All junior cadets to designated bunkers. All senior cadets to Sector 7-G. Deadly force authorized. Repeat: Deadly force authorized.” Her hands flew up to ears. At least the migraine-pain would distract her from the magic-pain. Thank Hordak for small mercies.

The other new kid, Kyle, looked like he was gonna have a heart attack. She rolled her eyes. Did he think this was real? Intruder alerts were always drills — she knew better than most that in the Fright Zone, no ever got in . . . or out.

While the rest of the squad joined the stream of cadets in the hallway, Catra went straight for the vents. She knew from last week that the bunkers weren’t sound-proof. The alarm would echo through every corner of the Fright Zone, drilling into her ears for hours. In all her years sneaking through the corridors, she had only found one quiet place. It would be the perfect spot to ride out this drill.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The wolf couldn’t tell how long she had been hiding when the door swooshed open. A familiar scent hit her nose first. “Ugh,” a scratchy voice groaned. “We just had an intruder drill last week. Since when did Hordak care about safety?” She shuffled towards her hiding place.

 _No._ she panicked. _Friend can’t see me like this._ She whined involuntarily. Friend’s footsteps paused. The wolf screwed her eyes, as if that would keep her from being spotted. She heard some shuffling, then a gasp.

“Big rat," friend muttered, terrified. “Really big rat.”

The wolf looked up, concerned. _Friend usually likes rats. Something’s wrong. I’ll scare it off for her!_ Instead, she came face to face with her terrified friend. Mismatched eyes, wide with shock, looked back into hers. She hissed and swiped her clawed hand at her face, slashing her under the eye. The wolf backed into the corner, gracelessly knocking over crates, and faced her friend haunches raised.

After a few moments of wondering what she’d done wrong to make her so scared, she saw Friend’s expression change. “A—“ She stammered. “Adora?”

The wolf waged her tail and nodded. She tried to answer her friend, but no words came out. Just a few low whines and growls.

Friend shuffled closer, cautiously. She stretched out a hand. “It’s ok. It’s me. Catra,” She whispered. “We’re squad-mates,” she added, uncertainly. “I was there in the infirmary. When you woke up. Remember?”

Of course the wolf remembered. Friend was the best thing in the Bad Place. She nuzzled her outstretched hand.

“So this is why Shadow Weaver sensed magic in you,” she said, patting her snout. “You can do . . . whatever this is. Or, wait” her eyes looked panicked. She cradled her head in her hands. “She — she didn’t do this to you? Did she?” The wolf shook her head. “Oh, ok,” she sighed relieved. “Are you — are you stuck like this?” The wolf whined again. She didn’t know.

“Well,” Friend sighed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “It’s ok, probably. We have Rogelio on our squad, and no officer can understand him,” she reasoned to herself. “So, you being a big, half-person, half-dog . . . thing that can’t talk shouldn’t be a problem. As long as you can understand orders.” She paused. “You can understand me, right Adora?”

The wolf barked. “Good,” Friend said, reassuringly rubbing circles into her furry back. “As long as you can follow orders, no one will care about,” she gestured with her free hand to the wolf, “all this.” Then, she caught sight of her own clawed hand and froze. Friend looked down, sad. “I wouldn’t know. I can’t follow orders,” she muttered. “I can’t do anything right. I couldn’t even keep you safe.”

The wolf nuzzled her chest, pulling her arms up to embrace her. _Friend shouldn’t be sad,_ the wolf thought with more conviction than she thought she could muster. _Friend is brave. Friend is strong. Friend is good friend._ She hugged her closer. _Friend should know that too._

After a few moments of hesitation, Friend hugged back. They stayed like that for the rest of the full moon. Just the two of them, except for one moment, when an unsettling shadow passed by, watching as its master pondered just how well her plan had gone, and how she could turn _this_ into leverage


	2. Old Wounds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kantor tells Adora of the Vanishing of Halfmoon, his rivalry with Shadow Weaver, and how the Cult came to her village. When he’s done, Adora has a choice to make.

Samanya excused herself as the two locked eyes. She could tell this was the kind of conversation her adoptive father needed privacy for. She was not a stranger to ex-Horde soldiers. Over the years, she and her father sheltered more than a few grunts left to die on the front lines. However, this woman wasn’t just some canon fodder that needed help disappearing. She’d seen the wanted posters; she’d heard Kantor’s confessions. This was Captain Adora, the Beast of the Horde, and the two had some talking to do. 

They continued staring at one another after Samanya left. Two ex-Seconds of the Horde, who had each once stood astride the greatest military machine Etheria had known in a thousand years, were now sharing a pot of gritty coffee in a rundown kitchen. 

“I’ve seen the files,” Adora said, breaking the silence. She was staring right through him. “I know you ordered the attack.”

Kantor sat down across from her, laying his cane against the table. The wolf could hear that his heart was pounding in his ears. Still, he sounded almost nonchalant when he spoke. “Are you here to kill me, then?”

She stayed quiet for an unsettlingly long time. The question brought her back to the moment she first reviewed those files months ago. The green and black text on the cracked monitor stabbing at her eyes. Her vision blurring with tears as she realized . . . every horror, every hurt, every crime . . . pointless. It had all been pointless.

“The files listed the mission as a failure,” she finally said, barely keeping the cracks out of her voice. “It wasn’t supposed to — to _end_ like it did.” She looked back at Kantor. “What happened?”

“A simple no,” He deadpanned. “Would have been easier on an old man’s heart.”

“Do you really think you have the right to an easy heart?” She shot back.

“Do you really think you deserve to be the judge of that?” He parried. While Kantor preferred to keep away from news of the Evil Horde, even he couldn’t avoid hearing of the infamous Beast. When she said nothing, he sighed and poured himself a cup. “Would you like some?” he asked. “Samanya guzzles the stuff around new moons. The caffeine counters the exhaustion.” She said nothing. “It’s a long story,” he explained. “We may be here a while.” 

He poured her a cup and slid it across the table. She eyed the drink warily before taking an aggressive swig. To her credit, she almost kept a straight face. Kantor winced. Back in his day, officers had a regular coffee ration. He hadn’t thought about how the Horde must have changed in the last decade as the old guard leadership, those who had chosen to join at the start, were replaced by those who had been drafted before they could spell. 

When Kantor joined, the Horde wasn’t too different from the mercenary crews he’d run with since he was a boy. Except those who joined got a lot more security and a lot more power. In exchange, all they had to do was follow a few more rules and turn a blind eye to certain . . . recruitment tactics. But now, instead of having to accommodate the expectations of outsiders, Hordak finally has a perfect box of well-beaten cogs to draw from as he shapes his war machine. To those kids, first choice of ration bars and a closet to call their own were all the perks they needed to make a promotion worthwhile. 

Now one of those kids was sitting in his kitchen, waiting politely for him to explain why her family was gone. He sighed. “It all started with the Siege of Halfmoon . . .”

* * *

Kantor was serving as a Force Captain on that fateful night. After months of back and forth, the Horde had finally managed to force the defenders to retreat behind the city’s great sandstone walls. 

“I assume they don’t teach you much about the siege in Force Captain Orientation,” he said. “What with how it ended, but you could have learned a lot from the tactics involved.” 

Hordak had chosen this target carefully. The Magicat Kingdom was imposing, but isolated. There was a slim chance any other Kingdom would offer to come to their aid, and an even slimmer chance they would accept it. Nine-tenths of its population was concentrated in Halfmoon, so it was just a matter of taking that one city. Conquering the Kingdom would give them access to the Crater Canyons - an extremely productive territory for iron mining - and free reign over the Wastes — not a major prize, but the psychological affect of such rapid expansion would catch the other kingdoms off-guard. 

Hordak knew this campaign would set the tone for his conquest of the planet. If it was a quick victory, Hordak could show how merciful he was to those who failed to put up a fight. If it was brutal, drawn-out siege . . . well, then he could show the other kingdoms why they should seek his mercy to begin with.

After the outlying villages had accepted fighters loyal to the Fallen Princesses of Scorpion Hill, Hordak had a good excuse to send raiding parties. Then, when the nobles of Halfmoon refused to turn over the Rebels, he had a good claim to push further and further in. Commanders like Kantor were careful. They pushed just enough to draw out the City’s vanguard, and only then did they let loose with the strongest artillery. By the time they bottled up the kingdom’s forces behind the wall, with a special built canon the size of three battle cruisers ready to smash it to dust, victory was all but assured. 

Adding to its vulnerability, unlike most other kingdoms, Halfmoon had no Runestone Princess. The Crimson Catseye and its last wielder had disappeared a millennia ago. 

“According to legend, the wielder was always a member of the ruling noble family, but once they bonded to the stone, they would abdicate their place in the line of succession and serve as some sort of . . . Protector for all of Etheria, not just their kingdom,” Kantor explained. 

“And the wielder was thought to be the living avatar of the goddess Sekmet,” Adora recited. “Legend has it, the sun god, Ra, tore out his right eye to create a living weapon to wipe out all life on Etheria and make way for a new world. Instead, the other gods and surviving mortals joined forces to deceive and restrain her. They devised a plan to split her essence between worlds to keep her from ever returning to wreck havoc again. The rebel gods took half and turned it into the warrior goddess Bast, patroness of Halfmoon; one mortal, the Magicat Pharaoh, channeling it through the Catseye, became the vessel for the rest, and passed it the curse down through the generations. She was the first Eye of Ra,” she finished. “Or, She-Ra.”

Kantor sat back in his chair and whistled. “And I thought I was thorough. Did you find some sunken Magicat library in the Wastes? I assume Magicat mythology wasn’t added to the cadet curriculum.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Another memory flashed in her minds eye. 

She couldn’t sleep; not by herself, not after what had happened. She tried facing the nightmares alone; but, as soon as she’d get close to passing out, she’d realize she didn’t hear breathing at the foot of her bed and reach out to check on her and — _Catra’s eyes watering as she backed away, Thaymor burning around them. “This is what you’ve been doing . . . ,”. Hurt, betrayal, fear, disgust: carved into every line of her face. She’d only seen flashes of this look in Catra’s eyes before . . .in the Black Garnet chamber_.

That last thought made her sick. Catra was the only one who had never been scared of her. Now, after Catra had seen the Beast in action, she couldn’t picture her any other way, no matter how hard she tried. So, Adora stayed up all night, organizing every scrap of data on Halfmoon, Magicats, and this She-Ra. 

She’d face whatever this thing was like she faced every other challenge: relentlessly. She would understand every angle of this problem, and then she’d know how to conquer it.If she could just find a way to get rid of this ** thing ** possessing her friend, Adora could make her see how wrong she was. She could apologize. She could reason with her. She could bring her back home.

She could stop being alone again.

~~~~

She came back to the present as her host continued. Kantor suspected that Hordak would have made a play for the city even if it haven’t been so ripe for the taking. Halfmoon was the most technologically advanced city on Etheria. Some said their scientists could work wonders that outshone the greatest masters of Mystacor.

“I assume, as his Second, you discovered his . . . obsession with First Ones’ Technology for yourself,” he asked. 

Adora nodded, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at the memories. “Once, I had to sacrifice our stronghold in the Northern Reaches to get some ‘Source Code’ for him.” While the wild-goose chases had been annoying, they had certainly gotten easier once Entrapta inserted herself as Hordak’s Lab Partner . . . whatever that meant. 

She never asked, and the princess never elaborated. Adora got a lot more clarity when it came to missions in the First Ones Tech department and much more free reign in the “Conquering Etheria” and “Getting Revenge” departments once the two got to work on Hordak’s secret project; so, she couldn’t care less what those two did with the rubble she scavenged from ruins.

“Well,” Kantor continued. “Let’s just say he had very good reasons to want to take Halfmoon.” 

According to some legends, Halfmoon had been built by the First Ones from the ground up. Other accounts claimed it was the only city that existed before the First Ones settled Etheria, which really called into question the whole “First” part of their name in Kantor’s opinion. The information available was painfully vague; most of the stories they could glean from caravans would only mention the city’s tech in passing, as a detail in a story about star-crossed lovers, court intrigue, or lost warrior goddesses. 

The night before the canon went online, all the major officers were present. Everyone hoped some of the shine of victory would rub off on them. “The only one who stayed behind in the Fight Zone was,” he grimaced. “Shadow Weaver.” Adora’s knuckles went white as she gripped the coffee cup so hard it could have shattered.

Kantor noticed and hoped the wolf would leave enough for Samanya to bury. Fortunately, he saw the grip loosen. “I think I went a whole month without thinking about her,” she muttered with a faint smile. “New record.” Kantor didn’t think he was meant to hear that, so he continued.

It turned out that she made the right call. Things started to go wrong with the ambush. A strike team from Brightmoon appeared out of nowhere. They peppered the camp with spells, leaving us scrambling. Before the Horde soldiers could get their boots on, they surged on the canon. 

“Wait,” the wolf interrupted. “Brightmoon came to their aid? Why?”

“I had a spy look into that once I got promoted,” Kantor explained. “One of the lesser members of the royal family got leave to study sorcery in Mystacor. Apparently, she made a few friends, and one of them married into the crown. A few rumors said they were more than just friends, but I think those were just rumors by nobles who didn’t like it when royals left the city.” He took another swig from his drink. “Small world, isn’t it?”

She stared into her mug. “All they could send was one strike team?” She growled. “Must not have been very good friends.”

“Well,” he shrugged. “The King-Consort was leading them personally. Though, Micah was always first to charge in. We may have captured him that night too. We recovered fast enough from the assault. But no one expected what happened next.”

As the Horde were finally gaining the upper hand, this low whining sound started to build. Out of nowhere, the wind picked up, like a hurricane was on the horizon. Then, a bright flash exploded — blinding the whole army. The next thing anyone knew, they were lying flat on the ground, and where the city of Halfmoon once stood there was nothing but smooth desert.

“I recovered first— grabbed a few squadrons and headed for the canyons. Figured if I could secure the mines, I’d stay out of the blast radius of Hordak’s inevitable meltdown and set myself up to get on his good side.” Adora recognized the mix of shame and pride glinting is his eye. She’d had that look before, reminiscing about old plans. “My superior officer wasn’t so prescient.”

“Let me guess,” she offered. “He got sent to Beast Island for his failure and you got his job?”

“No,” he deadpanned. “That only happened after I convinced my superior that the best way back in Horak’s esteem was a quick campaign in Snows. Never saw him again. After he was declared M.I.A . . . well, Weaver may have thought she was owed the job, but I knew Hordak wasn’t one to feel indebted to anyone. When there was an opening, he had a tendency to promote whoever was in his line of sight and get back to his lab. So, while she was locked away in her chambers studying the cub they brought back from the debacle, I made sure I was first in line.” He saw her frame freeze up at the mention of the kid. He knew better than to press.

Her apprentice was always an odd fixture of the Fright Zone. From what he gathered, one of her lackeys had brought the child back from the outskirts of Halfmoon after the Vanishing. She was probably the closest to all that raw, magical energy; that was probably what caused Weaver to take an interest. 

Kantor never took Weaver to be the maternal type, and based on how the kit skulked around in the shadows his instincts were correct. He made a habit of choosing to buzz into her chambers during her lessons, mostly just to annoy her and remind the witch who was in charge. Once or twice, he caught a glimpse of red lightning shooting out from the runestone and into the kit‘s limbs as she tried to carve out symbols in the air. 

Kantor tried to keep the image out of mind. Magic had always made him queasy. He left Shadow Weaver to messing with the Black Garnet and focused on conquest. He spent so much time outside the Fright Zone that he didn’t realize Weaver’s strategy until it was too late. While Kantor gathered power on the field, she built a network of spies and sycophants. 

After a few too many convenient failures brought on by her supporters sabotage, he realized that Weaver had learned her lesson from last time. She was playing to win. The tipping point came five years after the Vanishing of Halfmoon, when she managed to predict a major Brightmoon assault in near perfect detail. She even used the Garnet to pinpoint King Micah’s location, allowing him to be captured and shipped to Beast Island. It was the Horde’s proudest moment since Scorpion Hill; and Shadow Weaver played a starring role. 

Kantor still led the attack. They shared the credit, but Kantor knew how dangerous his position was. Weaver was breathing down his neck. He needed to prove his usefulness once and for all. Outshine the witch so much that no one would care if she had an . . . unfortunate accident. He already knew that they didn’t need her to access the Garnet’s power. He’d seen her apprentice do it after all. 

All Kantor needed to do was give Hordak something he wanted more than any piece of territory. The thing he had been cheated out of at Halfmoon. The subject of his secret project. The thing Kantor had heard him call “The Portal.”

The old man sighed, and fixed his eye on the wolf across the table like he was facing a firing squad. “That’s how I first came across the Cult of the Claw.”

When Halfmoon disappeared, it emitted a distinct signal. According to an unauthorized dive into Hordak’s project notes, a smaller version of that same signal had been recorded in the Scorpion Kingdom a few decades before. The notes theorized that the portals were no natural occurrence, but the result of mucking about with First Ones ruins. 

Etheria had no shortage of curious fools tinkering with the tech. Kantor decided that one of them was bound to make a breakthrough eventually. At the very least, there would be another portal, and when Hordak detected it he would expect an army to have been dispatched yesterday. 

So, Kantor began making plans. He created a standard retrieval protocol for every regional commander to memorize; well, every commander he could rely on to give him full credit. The tricky part was planning for areas that weren’t under Horde control. He couldn’t exactly launch a full invasion at the drop of a hat; and unfortunately, given how deep Weaver’s tendrils reached, he couldn’trely on their elite strike teams - the Ones best suited to infiltrate a kingdom, secure a village, and drag the local eggheads back the Fight Zone. 

So, Kantor decided to find allies on the the outside. Mercenaries who would be loyal to him and him alone.

Kantor had grown up in the Wastes. He’d heard stories of the wolves who claimed the right to rule Brightmoon. After drinking a few old contacts under the table, he set up a meeting with their leader. “I swear on both my fathers’ graves,” he recalled. “This man made Hordak look humble. He demanded we conduct all our meetings in person, but never allowed us to see their base, probably because it wouldn’t live up to that pompous name he gave it. Always made a show of taking over some watering hole instead. He also refused to conduct business with us unless I addressed him by his full, made-up title: Brigadier-General Victor Greylock IX.”

He drummed his fingers on the table. “Doesn’t ring a bell does it?” The words spilled out quickly.

The wolf’s eyes narrowed. “Why would it?”

“Because he— dammit, I should have known something was wrong when I gave him the coordinates,” Kantor rasped, unable to meet her eyes. “I hired them to do similar work in a few towns, just to prove they could control themselves, before I kept them on retainer to wait for the portal. They put our best strike teams to shame- no casualties, limited damage. They were perfect for the job.”

When the signal flared up deep in the Whispering Woods, Kantor was thrilled. Horde tracking tech got scrambled every time they sent soldiers in there. Even with the precise coordinates, any teams they sent to find it wouldn’t be able to go three steps without getting lost. But his wolves wouldn’t have a problem. They could take whatever backwater had stumbled upon the portal’s secrets, send up a flare he’d developed, and let his soldiers do the rest. And, as if by fate, it was a full moon that night. He actually saw Hordak grin when he told him the good news.

“With all the other missions, the General was detached, professional. But when he saw the dot on that map, he smiled.” Adora held back a shudder as an image of glistening jaws and red eyes flashed before her. “He smiled, and he said . . . ‘It will be good to visit Greyskull again.’”

The Lone Wolf, the Beast of the Horde, the mighty werewolf who was feared the planet over, who faced off against She-Ra without flinching, looked like a stiff breeze could knock her down. No one knew her village’s name. The Horde listed it as “Unidentified Settlement.” The Rebellion didn’t know it existed. Even she had forgotten it until now— every detail of her home drowned out by rage and trauma . . . and a strange red haze over the memories. But this . . . this General Greylock had known it. He had been there before.

Kantor set himself up to take all the credit, but that also meant there was no one to share to the blame. When his soldiers followed the signal flares to the village, when they came back with nothing but horror stories, Kantor knew he was doomed. He put up a good effort. His squads scoured the ruins for clues, but the wolves had systematically demolished almost everything useful. Then, a month later, with Beast Island looming over him, Shadow Weaver of all people threw him a lifeline: permission to speak with the only survivor.” They both winced. 

“At first,” he explained. “Since Shadow Weaver was in charge of cadets, I couldn’t exactly get a hold of you without her say so. I could have pulled rank, but I was reluctant to admit to Hordak that interrogating the nine year-old about quantum physics was our best option.” The old man pointed to his glass eye. “Fair’s fair,” he said. “I deserved this. But I am curious how she knew you were turning? Samanya says it takes months to see the signs.”

“She told me she ‘just knew I was special,’ but I think she made a habit of checking all the kids who came in for magic,” she offered, recalling a shadow drifting around the infirmary, red lightning crackling from her fingertips as she reached for her. “Since I was in danger, the wolf . . . came out earlier than it was supposed to. Don’t feel too special. It wasn’t the last time she pulled something like that.”

Kantor took a deep breath. “I know you have every right to kill me,” he said as evenly as he could. “I ruined you life. I’ve ruined a lot of lives. But before you make your choice, you should know the truth. The Cult didn’t lose control, and they weren’t acting on the Horde’s orders. I can’t tell you why they did it, but I can tell you one thing with absolute certainty: it was personal.” 

He steadied his breathing. “The bite alone isn’t enough to turn someone. It takes intention and not everyone can do it. What happened to you, and what happened to your village weren’t accidents.” He forced himself to meet her gaze one last time. “And for what’s its worth . . . I am sorry for my hand in this, Adora. I am sorry for what I did to you, to Etheria, to . . . I’m sorry for everything.”

The wolf just stared at her hands. When she spoke at last, neither could tell how long they had been waiting. “When I first read the files,” she began quietly. “I tracked down the grunts who were in charge of your transport to Beast Island. Only one is still around; a lady on desk duty in Dryl. When she said you managed to jump out in open water, and that they all thought you drowned, I trekked down to Salineas, talked to some sailors about what kind of currents you get out there, where they might take debris. Then, I just followed the river. Not sure what I’d find, certainly wasn’t expecting it to be you. But after I brought those kids back . . . there you were rallying a mob in the town square to hunt Lashor down.”

“Why are you telling me this,” the old man said slowly. Laughter rang out through the rafters. A muffled cry of ‘For the Pride of Bast!’ came after. 

‘Thank you She-Ra. Woof! Woof! Your lasso of truth has shown me the error of my ways. Now, I’ll join you in the fight for good! Awooooo!’

‘That’s not what happened!’ 

‘It’s called a redemption arc, Jacques!’

“I’m saying,” she continued. “No one else from the Horde will be able to find you . . .”

———-

* * *

. . . and I hope it stays that way,” she finished, the light glow from the ruins catching every line on her face. Though the new moon was now a week behind them, the Beacon still outshone anything in the sky above. It wasn’t exactly neutral ground for their weekly check-ins, but if someone had gotten their way,they would be taking place in the Brightmoon Dungeon (or as the Brightmooners apparently called it, the “Spare Room”). Needless to say, she preferred this option.

Catra whistled. “If I had a buck for ever time I heard Shadow Weaver griping about that guy, I could bribe the whole Horde to defect. I can’t believe he survived jumping ship on the way to Beast Island. I always knew it wasn’t much of threat.”

“He has gills,” she explained. “Quarter Sealenian on his grandmother’s side.”

“Speaking of,” the princess interjected. “When Sea Hawk let it slip that you were still investigating those files at the last Princess Alliance meeting, Glimmer nearly broke the table.” She cackled at the memory. ”She’ll be glad . . . nah, ‘glad’ isn’t the right word. Umm.” She snapped her fingers as the right phrase came to mind. “She’ll be ‘less apoplectic’ when she hears you’ve finally . . . “ She couldn’t stop her tail from swishing. “What are you gonna do with this information?”

Adora looked up at the empty sky, motionless. “Are you and the Best Friends Squad still planning on investigating that signal out in the Wastes?” Catra had mentioned the mission at their last check-in. The Wastes were just about the most dangerous place in Etheria, so the Queen was naturally reluctant to let her best fighters go ghost-hunting there. Still, the reasons were mounting. Between this “Serena” signal they were detecting and the remnants of Halfmoon, the crimson dunes were hiding a lot of secrets. 

“Yeah,” Catra answered. “Why do you ask?”

Adora took a deep breath and spoke quickly. “Do you have room for one more?”

Catra looked stunned. Her ears flattened and her tail flicked once, uncertainly. Then, her pupils grew wide and a grin spread across her face. 

“What was the ‘pompous name.’?” She asked, excitedly. “Something really douchey like ‘The Den of Despair’ or ‘The Temple of Terror’? If we’re gonna do Rebel missions together we need to work on your banter game. No offense, but “strong, angry, silent type” isn’t exactly the Squad vibe. Maybe we could, I don’t know, practice your insults before we get there.”

The wolf raised an eyebrow and smiled back. “The Cult calls its base ‘New Eternia,’” she responded. “And I’d love to practice my banter with you. And as long as we’re preparing, maybe we could run some drills, go over strategy, make a flow-chart—“

“Ugh!” She groaned. “Seriously? You can’t make me ‘Respect the chart!’ I’m a rebel now; we don’t do charts.”

“One time!” She shouted back, laughing. “I said ‘respect the chart’ one time! I was thirteen. Cut me some slack!”

“How about: I never let you live it down,” Catra retorted. “And maybe I won’t call you Big Floof in front of the team.”

Adora smiled back. “It’s a deal,” she said with a mock curtsy. “ . . . Princess Applesauce.” 

As they teased each other and laughed, Adora couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this happy. She was back on the path to justice _. Only this time,_ she thought, _I won’t be walking alone._

Deep down however, the wolf knew she never had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this installment, please leave a kudos or a comment. The notes you leave give me a bigger jolt than Adora’s first coffee :)
> 
> *whew* Like I said, lots of exposition this time. And lots of (hopefully satisfying) answers.
> 
> I’d appreciate feedback on the reveals in this bit. Also, the pacing. This is the most exposition I’ve put in one place so far, so I hope it wasn’t boring or overwhelming. Let me know how I could have improved. I just thought a big story session was warranted after multiple installments of implications and hints.
> 
> Thanks again for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Another two-parter! These are fun. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this. I hope you enjoyed it. If you did, please leave a kudos or comment. They keep me motivated to explore this world and share what I find with you. Threw in some more worldbuilding in this one, so comments on how that worked would be helpful, but as always - any and all comments are life-affirming. 
> 
> The next chapter might be a bit exposition-heavy, but Adora is seeking answers, so I feel some longer form "here's what happened" stuff is warranted. I hope to balance it out with a little creative framing, so watch out for Part II.


End file.
